The Worst Flu of the Century
by mydoctortennant
Summary: They call it manflu these days... Arthur/Gwen


**Another prompt challenge, this time the prompt 'flu', with Arthur having 'manflu'.**

"Gwen! You have to save me!" Merlin bundled into Morgana's chambers without knocking, but the Lady was eating with the King. Arthur was in bed, as he had been for the past two days. Merlin hadn't had a free moment, not a time to himself.

"Save you?" Merlin took the confused look on Gwen's face as a sign to her inability to understand the situation.

"It's Arthur," he explained, "I can't take it any more. He's driving me insane!" he complained, something Gwen was very much accustomed to these days. She loved Merlin to pieces, she really did, but sometimes he did get a bit tiresome.

"I thought he was in bed with flu?" It wasn't unusual for the manservant to complain about his master. If she didn't hear a complaint on a daily occurrence she would believe something wrong with him.

"He calls it flu," he uttered resentfully; "I call it Arthuritis!"

"Arthuritis?"

"He's barely got a sniffle, Gwen; and he is carrying on as if he has the worst flu recorded this century. I don't know what to do anymore."

"And I do?" she didn't understand quite how she could help. Surely the only thing to do in this situation was to let Arthur sleep it off until he was done being a baby about the slightest sniffle.

"Gwen," he begged, "please. He'll behave for you. Me? It's just 'Merlin do this,' 'Merlin get that,' 'Merlin I'm ill!'" he faked cough and whined like a small child. Gwen looked over at him sympathetically. She chewed the inside of her lip and finished folding the last of the linens she was to deliver to the launders.

"I'm sure he isn't that bad, Merlin," she reasoned, picking up the basket.

"Please! You know I wouldn't ask otherwise!" he took the basket from her grasp and practically ran from the room. Gwen went to shout after him but he was already gone. She looked around, checking there wasn't anything else she had to do.

Five minutes later she couldn't find another candle to straighten or any other excuse not to go. She sighed, chewing on the inside of her lip some more, maybe she should go; Merlin had asked and had taken her washing from her. She could at least do him a favour.

"I feel terrible," the Prince declared rolling onto his side pushing his face into his pillows, scrunching his eyes closed. He'd thought it was Merlin entering his chambers with a fresh pot of water, he didn't realise his servant had sent another.

"You look terrible," Arthur raised an eyebrow at the source of the voice coming from the lady to his left, most definitely not Merlin, "I mean, you look ill, sire, not that you look terrible, I do not think that you look terrible. Not to say I think you look good. I mean-"

"Guinevere?"

"This is one of those times I should remain quiet," she admitted, withdrawing from the conversation in order to wet a cloth in the bowl of water she had set on the table. Arthur sniffed theatrically and let out a long groan.

"I think I might die, Guinevere," he coughed - completely pathetically – before hiding his face in the fisted blankets in his hands. The blankets slid up his legs revealing his bare feet to the world.

"I think you are being a bit melodramatic there my lord."

"It is true! I have never been so ill!" He led back, letting go of the blankets, stretching out his legs the cool air making him feel slightly better.

"You have been closer to death than this, sire," she said laying the damp cloth on his forehead and sitting back in her seat. She didn't need to tend to him, not really, he was perfectly fine, not even running a fever, but he would complain at her if she didn't.

"But this time, Guinevere, I am sure to die."

"If you fear it, I can fetch Gaius. I'm sure he can convince you otherwise."

"He has already been, said there is nothing he can do," _That's because there is nothing wrong with you, _Gwen thought bitterly. She really had other things she could be doing than tending to the Prince's phoney illness.

"Then you must sit it through, my lord, I'm sure you shall be fine in the morning," Gwen fiddled with her apron, flattening the material against her legs, not looking the Prince in the eye. She did not lack the muster to tell him flat out when he was wrong, but there was something awkward about this situation in comparison to the last time she had tended to him.

"That is what Merlin said yesterday, the idiot was wrong."

"I am no idiot, my lord."

"That isn't what I meant," Arthur was quick to interject the cloth falling from his head at his sharp, perfectly healthy movement, "I meant that _Merlin_ is an idiot. Not you, Guinevere," the Prince fell quiet, occasionally sniffing just to prove there was something 'wrong' with him, "There is one thing that might help."

"What is that, sire?" she stood up pulling on the edge of his blankets and straightening them out over his body and laying them down so he was fully covered again. Defiantly he kicked them off completely. She looked down at him, her mouth set in a straight line, mischief written on his face.

"I would have asked Merlin, but I do not think it would have quite the same effect."

"What would you like, sire?" he sat up, crossing his legs quickly reaching out his hand and pulling on her wrist, making her sit down on the edge of his bed. She shifted uncomfortably, "My lord?"

A 'sickly' grin appeared on his face, edging towards her slightly. Gwen tried to pull away from him, feeling uncomfortable, but his firm grip on her wrist stopped her from moving far. She saw him visibly bite down on his lip before his tongue gently lapped over them and his gaze dropped from her eyes to the lower half of her face and back again. The smile on his face broadening.

Since Vivian, Gwen had told herself countless times that they could not be, but it was times like these that she told herself to toss that ideal out of the window and allow her the happiness she wanted.

Arthur released her wrist and ran his fingers gently up her arm, over the material of her dress, his hand finding the nape of her neck, pulling her gently towards him and he moved towards her. His eyes closed when his lips were a centimetre from hers. The pressure of his lips on hers for the third time in her life caused her stomach to explode into a chorus of fluttering butterflies, with it her eyes shut, pushing back.

Without pulling away from her, Arthur placed his forehead to hers, taking a few deep breaths before he kissed her lips again, twice in a quick recurrence.

"Most definitely couldn't have asked Merlin for that," he muttered, his forehead still against hers, "I think you may have cured me, Guinevere."

"Then you can return to your duties."

"Or perhaps I should stay here in case it comes back, in which case you should stay too, so you can cure me again."


End file.
